


What You Wish For

by romanticalgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian comes home and Mickey is busy.</p>
<p>do you know what’s a great trope? best friends / roommates who are in love with each other and don’t know and one of them walks in on the other jerking off and they are about to walk about of the room really fast until they hear the other person moaning their name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feveredpitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feveredpitch/gifts).



There are only three things in the world that Ian wants right now – a beer, a bong, and bed. He’s bringing the first home with him since it’s his turn, and he knows Mickey’ll have the other because Mickey’s the best roommate-slash-best friend in the universe. And Fiona was supposed to “sneak” in today and clean their apartment, because they are boys and can’t do shit (or at least fake it well), and so he’ll have freshly laundered sheets.

Instead he gets home to a completely dark apartment. The light they leave on when one of them is going to be out late is even out, and it’s not really that late so it definitely should be on. The TV’s off. Ian’s caught somewhere between worried and pissed off, because if Mickey is out with that fucking tool that they met at the bar last week, Ian’s going to have to do something to explain to him that bad taste isn’t a lifelong sentence.

And after that he’ll find the guy and beat the shit out of him.

Except Ian’s not allowed to do that, because Mickey is 100% his roommate-slash-best friend, and not his boyfriend, not his lover, not his anything. Not his to be possessive over and think about and pretend he’s not listening when Mickey’s in bed jerking off every night. Those are not things Ian is. They are also not things that Ian wants to be. Has never wanted to be except how lately he can’t help noticing that Mickey is ridiculously beautiful and funny and smart and sexy and Ian would think he just needs to get laid.

But he did and all he did was think about Mickey.

Shit shit shit.

Ian puts the beer in the fridge after he takes one out and cracks it open. He actually splurged and got bottles of semi-not-horrible shit because his day had been one bitch of a thing after another. Even more than the three things he wanted, he wanted to crash on the couch next to Mickey and make fun of a TV show or a movie or the stupid customers they both had to deal with in their lives. He wanted Mickey’s warmth and the smiles he tries to hide and the way his hands brush Ians when they share a cigarette or pass a beer or a bong or a joint back and forth.

Fuck. Ian is so fucking gone, it’s not even fucking funny. 

And now, on top of this absolutely shit day he’s having, he’s stuck with the thought of Mickey being out with some other guy, with him touching and kissing and fucking some other guy. And, fuck, Ian wants it to be him. Wants Mickey to look at him the way he looked at the guy last night. With heat and hunger. He wants Mickey to want him.

But they’re roommates-slash-best friends, and Ian has few enough real friends to want to fuck that up so he knows he’s not ever going to do anything about it. And eventually he’ll probably get over it. He’ll find some guy that’ll take his mind off Mickey or Mickey’ll move out with a boyfriend or something.

Ian drains half his beer in one long guzzle and rests his head on the doorway that leads into the hall where their bedrooms are. He should shower and sleep. And turn the fucking light on for Mickey since the asshole didn’t have the decency to do it for him.

“Mmm.”

Ian freezes.

“Mmm. Oh.”

Okay, Ian’s going to fucking kill him. Mickey knows Ian works the early shift on Tuesdays, and if he brought some dude home to fuck then Ian has every right to smear him into the ground for being an asshole. It’s in their rental agreement. 

Ian’s going to march in there and...

“Oh ye-yeah.” 

He moves down the hall toward Mickey’s room, but there’s nothing close to march-like in his approach. He’s careful and quiet and he stops right outside Mickey’s door. It’s slightly ajar and Ian doesn’t let himself look. 

Just listen.

Shit.

Mickey’s breathing hard, making throaty little moans and noises that make Ian’s dick hard and heavy. Ian closes his eyes and lets the sounds wash over him. Quiet mewls and whimpers, gasped words – yes, yeah, oh, god, please, fuck – and the slick sound of flesh on flesh. But not of sex. Even without looking, Ian knows that Mickey’s in there alone and Ian should just head his ass right back out to the kitchen or living room and leave Mickey in peace to rub one out. He most definitely should not be rubbing himself through his jeans. This is a violation of Mickey’s privacy. Nonconsensual. Of course, they’re fucking roommates, so Ian hears this all the time.

He should go.

He’s not going to move.

“F-fuck. Yes. Fuck. Right...right there. Oh.” 

Mickey’s voice hits a note that makes Ian’s knees weak. He rests his forearm on the doorjamb and presses his forehead against it. Ian can picture the dark letters inked on Mickey’s hand in the light streaming in from the window. Can imagine Mickey’s fist curled around his dick. They’ve seen each other in just about every stage of undress, so it’s not like Ian doesn’t have a visual. 

He can’t hear anything but Mickey, so he knows Mickey’s not watching porn. He’s just jerking himself off and – if the pleading is any indication – fingering himself or fucking himself with something. Ian has to fight to swallow, to get anything past the thick want in his throat. 

He stops pretending he’s only rubbing his dick and undoes his jeans. He gets his hand beneath his boxers and wraps his fingers around his dick, the waistband tight against his wrist. He’s got Mickey behind his eyes and Mickey’s voice surrounding him. 

His fingers. Ian decides that’s what Mickey’s using. He has to have at least two, maybe three inside him. His gasps are higher-pitched and Ian can hear the slight squeak of the springs and he knows Mickey’s riding his hand, fucking himself onto his fingers. 

Ian tells himself he’s not going to look. He’s already gone so far over the line. Too far. He needs to get his fucking head together and get the fuck to his bedroom and pretend none of this happened. He also needs to get over this ridiculous crush he has on Mickey, because he’s not going to lose Mickey. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not over this.

“O-oh. Oh, fuck. So. So thick.” 

Ian almost doesn’t recognize Mickey’s voice. It’s wrecked and raw and Ian opens his eyes. Mickey’s facing the headboard, one hand gripping the wood while the other works inside him. His ass is slick and pink and fucking perfect, spread around four fingers, Mickey’s thumb against the base of his balls. His head is bowed forward and his hair is damp and loose like he just got done with a shower. Ian can see the shadow of Mickey’s dick moving with every thrust of his hand and _fuck_.

Mickey shifts back, sinking down on his heels, his hand still buried inside him. His whole body jerks with every breath and Ian can practically feel how tight Mickey would be around his fingers even though he’s so open right now. Mickey’s head is thrown back and he releases the headboard and wraps his hand tight around his dick, thrusting into his fist, rocking up into it and then down onto his hand. 

“Fuck. Yes. G-god. Fuck. Fuck...I-Ian. Fuck.” He sinks down again, every muscle corded and tight as he comes. Ian can’t see it happen, all he can see is the reaction of Mickey’s body, the aftershocks as he works himself through it. His body is shaking and he keeps pushing down against his fingers like he needs just a little bit more, like it’s not enough.

Ian’s hand tightens on his own dick and he must make a noise because Mickey stills in a completely different way and turns his head. 

“Th-the fuck, Gallagher!” 

Mickey tries to move, but Ian’s pretty sure there’s no graceful or easy way to untangle himself from the position he’s in, so Mickey settles for glaring at Ian like he’s going to kill him at any given second. “I h-heard a noise.”

“So you thought you’d fucking jerk off to it?” Mickey manages to shuffle so that his ass isn’t pointed toward Ian, so Ian can’t see Mickey’s fingers slide out of his slick hole. He does get to see Mickey’s cock bob and jerk in reaction. “What the actual fucking fuck?”

“You...” Ian licks his lips. He knows he should be worried, that he should hightail it to his room and lock the door. He doesn’t _think_ Mickey will actually hurt him – badly – but he really should play it safe. Of course, he’s an idiot. He gladly confesses to that. “You said my name.”

“So?” Mickey snaps at him, but there’s something beneath it. Something that tells Ian that Mickey’s aware of the line they’re both balancing on. 

“You said my name when you came.”

“So?”

“With your fist in your ass.”

“Not my fist.”

“That’s so not the point I’m getting at.”

“Well, get to your fucking point then.” Mickey reaches for his boxers, and Ian can see the glint of lube on his hand. Mickey watches Ian look at it, and Ian can see the flush creep up Mickey’s skin.

“Were you thinking about me?” Ian doesn’t ever remember his voice sounding like this, deep and husky and hungry. It’s like a switch got flipped inside him and he’s lit up with it. “Did you want it to be me? In you?”

Ian looks at Mickey’s eyes and stops, frowning. Mickey looks scared. Actually scared.

“Mick?”

“Look.” Mickey turns his gaze from Ian. “I get that it’s fucked up, and I don’t...I mean, it’s not like it’s something I do regularly. It was just...I mean...Fuck.”

Ian steps into the room but he stays far enough back that Mickey’s got some space. “Are you worried that I’m mad?”

“You just caught me jerking off while I was fucking thinking about you. Of course you’re mad.”

“I’m...” Ian glances down to his own open jeans. His cock isn’t fully hard now, but it’s thicker than normal, half erect. “I’m not mad.”

Mickey cocks an eyebrow at him and then follows Ian’s gaze down. “You’re jeans are undone.” Mickey says it like the sentence doesn’t make any sense to him, like he’s not following what it means. 

“Yeah. They’re undone.”

“Why?” 

The honest confusion in Mickey’s voice guts Ian. Ian knows that underneath his bluster, Mickey’s got some serious self-esteem issues especially when it involves guys, but the fact that he can’t even seem to figure out what Ian’s implying is like a physical hurt. “Because I was jerking off.”

“Shit, you heard me from your room? I didn’t know you were home. Fuck.”

“Mickey.” Ian doesn’t quite yell it, but his voice is sharp and strident. “I was watching you. Listening to you. That’s why I was jerking off.”

Ian can practically see the emotions skitter across Mickey’s face – confusion, worry, fear, disbelief, uncertainty, insecurity, and just faintly a shimmer of hope. “O-oh?”

“Yeah. Oh.” Ian smiles. He can tell Mickey isn’t firing on all cylinders since his body is probably still riding the euphoria of his orgasm and the adrenaline of his fear. “Maybe we can talk? In the morning?”

Mickey nods and then looks away, digging for a t-shirt. “Think I’m going to watch a movie or something.” Mickey’s exposed and raw enough that Ian can see it for what it is – Mickey’s scared Ian’s going to disappear in the middle of the night, walk out because of all this.

Ian buttons up his jeans. “Let me change and I’ll keep you company, huh?”

“Yeah?” Ian nods and Mickey actually smiles, and for the first time, Ian feels like everything is going to work out okay. “Yeah. That sounds good.”


End file.
